The Broken Scarlet Sky

I walked into Henry Cimoli's health club down in the waterfront. It was full of gleaming chrome and complicated exercise machines populated by people in color coordinated work out gear. Henry was supervising a frizzy haired woman in a too tight leopard leotard along with one of the dead eyed trainers he employed to cater to his new clientele. 

"You doing great Izzy. Just one more rep." "It's too hard." 'Now I know you can do it. I can already see the improvement. Anyone can see the definition in your arms. Just one more." She pushed up the bar as she huffed and puffed like a horse on the last leg of a mile and quarter at Churchill Downs. She slowly pushed it up half way. There wasn't any weight on the bar at all so it didn't make a clang after she let go and it dropped down. More like a tinkle than a clang. "It's too hard." "Good job. Allison is going to take you to the next machine."

Henry strolled over to me looking like Hercules who had been left in the dryer too long and had shrunk down ten sizes. He was all muscle and a yard tall.

"Spenser." "Henry. I bet you never heard that before." "What's that?" "It's too hard. I don't think you ever had that problem." "Funny guy. No wonder you have a mug like Carlton Fisk's old mitt. Everybody just wants to wail on it.  Waddaya want?" "Is Hawk around?" "Yeah he is where he always is when he comes in. The boxing room."

Henry used to be a trainer. In fact he had trained me for a while. When he went upscale and threw out most of the mugs from the old days he kept a room for old times sake. A heavy bag. A speed bag. A couple of mats and a jump rope. When I walked in Hawk was working the heavy bag. His bald head was covered in a sheen as he put combinations and shook the bag from side to side. He hit it for a solid two minutes until a timer dinged and he stopped. He looked over at me.

"Hey whitey. What are you doing," "Racial invective. So woke of you. I wanted to talk to you for a moment when you get a chance." "Ok last round."

Hawk reset the timer and started to wail away on the bag. Two of the young trainers walked by and sneaked a glance at Hawk. They were young nubile hotties in skin tight leotards that Henry hired for the financial types who came in to pretend to exercise. Hawk smiled to himself as he finished with a three punch combination that made the bag sway like it was hit by a train. The timer dinged and he stopped and took off the training gloves.

Hawk took a towel and wiped his face and then his sweat soaked head which was a bald as a egg. Or as bald as a strippers snatch if you want to use a more appropriate metaphor. He was a large man who moved like a cat. You often came across a big guy. Or a fast guy. But you seldom come across a big fast guy. That is what made Hawk dangerous. Well one of the things that made him dangerous. There were a whole lot of them.

"So what's up?" "Nothing much. Say are you still dating that professor at MIT?" "Who Stacey? Well I wouldn't exactly call it dating. More like fucking. Occasionally. Why?" "I need to ask her  a few guest ions. Can you set it up?" "What do I get out of it?" "My eternal gratitude." "That ain't enough. I don't work cheap." "Dinner at the Ritz?" "Fair enough. I will call her. Bring Susan. I don't think she would appreciate it if you were the only one to show up." "I was planning too so don't worry about it." "I will let you know." "Thanks."

I turned to leave and Hawk went on to the speed bag. He made it sing. Now I just needed to get his girlfriend to do the same and give me an idea about what goes on at MIT. It was a start.